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In october 2022, I hunted in the Niassa province in Mozambique.

The story was published in the member magazine of SCI Royal Nordic Chapter.

RNC Magazine

I have translated some of the central parts of my story.

In Hemingway's footsteps.

A few years ago I decided I was going to hunt buffalo. It was supposed to be my 50th birthday present to myself. The plan was to hunt buffalo in South Africa, but eventually I became convinced that I had to go "all in" and hunt wild buffalo in "old Africa."
Of course, my old friend and outfitter Jaco Hurst was quick to suggest that John and I should visit the hunting operation he runs in Niassa, in the north of Mozambique. It was decided that we would spend 3 weeks in the country. John would like to hunt some of the small antelope he lacks to get his "Tiny ten", so we booked a stay in the south of the country first.
We then had a long day's driving before late one evening we arrived in Marrupa, where Mozambique Wilderness Adventures (MWA) has its hunting area, Courtada Marangira. The area is 440,000 hectares, so we had some space to play around.
Mbogo at sunset.

The first morning in the camp was spent checking and depositing weapons. I was actually going to use my Chapuis double rifle in 470 NE on the buffalo hunt, but I chose to travel light on the trip. Since Jaco at MWA assured me he had loaner guns that would suit me, I went for it.
Jaco fitted me with a CZ 550 in 416 Rigby, with a Swarovski 1-6x24 on top. He also had Hornady ammunition with 400gr DGX and DGS bullets at my disposal. Perfect.
Eventually we drove out to one of MWA's flycamps which was located in a part of the terrain known to house some groups of old buffalo bulls or duggaboys. We got settled in the camp just in time for lunch and spent some time familiarizing ourselves with the facilities.
In the afternoon, my PH Leo thought we should go and look for tracks. In the evening we found tracks of 2 buffalo bulls. Leo and the trackers conferred a bit and agreed that these buffaloes would probably come by the river and drink the next morning.

The trackers, Maxwell and Mosa, were absolutely fantastic, by the way. Maxwell I have hunted with in South Africa several times, so we were good buddies. Mosa was from one of the villages in the hunting grounds, knew the area like his own pockets and was equipped with an absolutely insane falcon's eye.
The next morning it was off. We found fresh tracks of the 2 buffalos and decided to follow them. We followed the tracks for almost 3 hours, before the wind changed. Meanwhile, the buffalo bulls had hung onto a herd of cows and calves. With bad wind and 40-50 sets of sharpened buffalo senses, we agreed to give up.
While eating lunch and getting something cold to drink, we bumped into a couple of boys from one of the villages. They could tell that there were 3 buffalo bulls living nearby.

We found the tracks of the buffalos, but they were not so easy to decipher. The bulls enjoyed themselves in a donga or dried-up river bed, and had left many tracks in the area. Eventually the trackers found out that we were following the tracks from the morning, and not the freshest ones set in the afternoon. The day was getting away from us, so we thought we'd give up for the day.
On the way back to the car, Leo suddenly stopped with a jerk and I almost stepped on him..
“Shit, there they are! » Quite right, we had found the buffaloes! Now things had to happen quickly. Me and Leo sneaked up on the buffaloes, but they were aware of us and stung. They didn't look too scared, so we waited. The second time we "bumped" them, we stopped. What are we doing? The sun had started to set, and the buffaloes were getting a little irritated.

"Let's try one more time!" Leo is not one to give up, so we crept towards the thicket where we had seen them disappear. Suddenly a buffalo bull stood 40-50m away and looked at us. The shooting sticks came up and the aiming dot in the Swarovski danced around on the buffalo. Pulse and breathing were not under control! Here it was just a matter of giving myself a mental slap in the back of the head.. While focus came, I heard Leo say: "This is a nice buffalo, but not the one you want. It's too young! His mate is the right one.” The 2 old bulls were followed by a younger buffalo, and that was the one I was aiming at. Leo thought that since it was the first day of the hunt, it would be unnecessary to shoot such a young buffalo. The light was also getting weaker, so we were about to give up.

“F..k! There is the old one!” Leo set up the sticks in a hurry. "Shoot him!" The 416 Rigby came up on the sticks, the aiming dot found the shoulder and I registered that the buffalo signed for a hit, before it plunged into the thicket, clearly uneven in its trot. The left front foot was clearly not working as it should. I didn't notice the recoil! I was really in my own "bubble", with full focus on the buffalo.

Leo grabbed his 458 Lott from Maxwell and we followed the buffalo. Normally one would wait and let the buffalo "rest" before we followed, but it was getting dark. 150m away we found the bull again. It had lain down in a thicket, but jumped up and ran away. I followed it in my sights and hoped for a quartering shot. It couldn't be done, so the buffalo got 2 quick bullets in the seat of his pants instead. The first shot hit it in the left thigh, while the second went between the root of the tail and the balls. The buffalo kicked hard backwards. The hind legs were almost in line with the back! After 7-8 more steps he crumbled and fell.
We rounded the buffalo and approached it from the back. We still haven't heard the characteristic death bellow, so we approached cautiously. The buffalo was still breathing, so it received a 400gr Hornady full jacket between the shoulder blades. It was the last "nail in the coffin" and the buffalo expired in front of us.

The boyhood dream of buffalo hunting was finally fulfilled, and I could lay my hands on the horns of my own duggaboy. And what a duggaboy! The buffalo was estimated to be 16-18 years old. The horns were worn down, it was white in the face with the characteristic black rings around the eyes that really old bulls get. The horns were maybe not the biggest, but this buffalo had character. When we turned the buffalo over we discovered that it had an old wire snare around its head, and old lion claw marks along its flanks. A truly ancient warrior, which had endured every trial a buffalo can have, only to meet its end at the mouth of my 416 Rigby.
The car was fetched and the buffalo loaded onto the plane. As we approached the village the rumour of the buffalo kill had preceded us. The whole village greeted us with song, dance and drums. The atmosphere was almost electric, and I felt the hairs on my arms stand up. MWA's practice is that all meat from the hunt is distributed to the local population, and it was clear that buffalo meat was appreciated.

Edited by maral (13/02/24 08:33 AM)